


Hello, My Name Is

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Sexual Situations, Humor, M/M, Party, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Mark "meets" Roger, they're in a dark closet and he's drunk as a skunk. Mark/Roger. Based on my RP journals with ImDefyinGravity. Mark-Meets-Roger story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, My Name Is

For about the third time that night, Mark cursed his alcoholic inexperience. It seemed almost as if the world was tilting, and he stumbled more than once on his way to the large circle of colorfully-clothed teenagers forming on the floor of Jack's family room. Maybe, though, maybe he should be cursing Maureen. Really, wasn't she supposed to be his best friend since kindergarten? And she'd gotten him drunk! Gotten him drunk and abandoned him at this party full of strangers, full of kids who weren't nearly as awkward and antisocial as Mark Cohen.

Intoxicated as he was, Mark was definitely not feeling shy. He was smiling slightly, and although he knew that he probably looked goofy as all hell he couldn't help it. To his fourteen-almost-fifteen year old brain, everything seemed absolutely hilarious. It wasn't his fault really- he'd only ever had a sip of his mother's wine on the holidays before, never even liked it, and here he was downing an entire beer!

A beer! An actual brown-tinted glass bottle of beer! Mark could hardly believe that Cindy had managed to sneak him into this party- uninvited, unbeknownst to the popular senior boy who was hosting it or his equally popular and, in Mark's opinion, cuter younger brother- let alone that he as drinking for the first time. He didn't know where the bottle had gone, which saddened him; the bespectacled boy would have liked to keep it, as a memento of sorts. But what was done was done, and he should probably start paying attention to what was going on around him.

Reaching up to clumsily push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which they'd been slipping down for the past ten minutes, the scrawny Jewish boy leaned forward and attempted to focus. All around him, older and more socially fluid people chattered and laughed with one another, all in gaudy costumes and painted faces or masks. Mark was reminded, once again, that he was the only one who hadn't worn a costume to a costume party, but he couldn't muster any enthusiasm even now for the idea of dressing up.

He wasn't a CHILD anymore, he sniffed in his mind. He was almost fifteen. Almost old enough for a permit and a job. Since last year, when he walked around his neighborhood feeling humiliated after letting Maureen dress him up as a girl, he'd matured quite a bit thankyouverymuch. Why on Earth any of these people wanted to spend their time, effort and money on making up costumes just so they could mingle and sweat in them for a couple of hours, he'd never understand.

"Alright, alright!" came a bellow from somewhere in the center of the throng. Amazingly, the taking lowered to a reasonable volume in response, and Mark looked up in confusion from his place cross-legged on the floor to the tall, broad-shouldered boy standing and clapping his hands over his head. Jeffrey Briggs was taller than his younger brother Jack, stockier too- he'd been on the football team longer- and his hair was slightly longer and darker bronze, but it wasn't enough to keep Mark from appreciating the tone to his body. "Who's up for truth or dare?"

Giggling and mischievous glances traveled around the room. Mark had the presence of mind to feel apprehensive, but was soon distracted by the booming music still filtering from behind the now-closed basement door. He thought he might vaguely know the tune, but after several unsuccessful attempts to hum along he stopped trying, returning his short attention span to Jeff. Except Jeff was nowhere to be seen, and everyone was drawing closer into a tighter circle, some breaking off into smaller groups away from the game.

Against his better judgment- he can't be blamed, his inhibitions are conspicuously absent- Mark scrambled to keep up, scooting over to join the game. Maureen, all wild dark hair and glitter, flashes him a wide delighted smile from somewhere across the circle. He tries to grin back but just ends up looking dorkier than he already did, thick black-framed glasses and albino-pale skin considered. He scratched the back of his head, hoping no one was secretly whispering and giggling about HIM, him with his shock of ginger-blonde hair that he hated more than anything. Oh well. He doesn't even care right now. The game is starting.

Someone has found an empty vodka bottle- probably the same one they'd used to spike the punch that Mark had almost started drinking earlier before Maureen warned him- and placed it at the center of the circle .Eyebrows drawing together in a look of utter bafflement, the scrawny boy watches as a pretty sophomore girl leans forward and spins it. Glass shimmering in the low light, it eventually slows to a stop and lands on none other than Jack, who just laughs and shouts, "Dare!", puffin our his chest in mock bravado.

Mark doesn't even try to pay attention, except to hope somewhere in the back of his mind that he doesn't get landed on. His blue eyes roam the room absently, taking in everything from the rich brown color of the hardwood beneath him to the faces of each member of the group. There was Maureen, fluttering her lashes at some unnamed senior boy beside her, and there was Jeff and Jack, and over there in the corner with the boy that Mark has seen holding her hand at school is Cindy. He doesn't know anyone, not by a long shot, and he's only one of a handful of freshman attending.

He has to do a double take to make sure he's seen right when his eyes fall on a moody-looking green-eyed boy, dressed all in black with glow in the dark star-shaped stickers stuck all over him. Is that- is that HIS green-eyed boy? The one from behind the school when he skips health class? He might be….

When the neck of the bottle points to him and he follows everybody's gaze to the same boy, he's sure. Yes, there are those emerald eyes that he sees every morning in the shower, hand wrapped around his morning erection and hot water beating down on him as he whimpers and groans. Fuck. This will not end well. Mark knows, with sudden dread, that he's going to do something VERY extremely stupid, it's only a matter of time- and in the morning he might not even remember why he's getting weird looks in the halls from everyone around him.

For a minute, the green-eyed boy just stares at him, looking slightly unnerved, and says nothing. Mark manages to stutter out "dare" even though he knows it's stupid of him, and it comes out sounding more like a question anyways. He rubs his arms self-consciously under the sleeves, hoping against hope that the object of his fantasies wouldn't make him do anything too humiliating.

He gets his wish, sort of. Sticker-boy's brain must have been malfunctioning, because he kept opening his mouth and shutting it again, apparently unable to think up anything good enough to say. People around them are getting impatient and Mark's eyes dart nervously about as they start to grumble, fidgeting. They're speaking now, shouting out suggestions, some of which make Mark wince. He doesn't like being the center of attention when it's GOOD, let alone when everyone is out to embarrass him.

"Make him take his clothes off!"

"Streak down the street!"

"Lick the floor!"

"Make 'im kiss you!"

"Closet-!"

Mark isn't entirely certain who says the last one, but everywhere he sees nods and grins of approval. Sticker-boy, as he's now officially dubbed him, is similarly distraught. His eyes are wide and his mouth gaping, trying to form the words to protest. Mark is counting on him to do the honors because he's sort of lightheaded and he's not even sure if he'll be able to stand from his current position without help. But then he shuts his mouth, closing his eyes for a momenta s though collecting himself, and through clenched teeth mutters, "Fine."

Eyes comically widened, Mark allows himself to be yanked to his feet by some random boy he doesn't know and shoved in the direction of the coat closet. As he feared, his balance is shot and he staggers drunkenly into the small, dark space obediently, too passive and too intoxicated and perhaps too eager to resist.

When sticker boy enters after him, much less enthusiastically and hardly meeting his eyes, Mark's hopes plummet. Damn it. When exactly had he even started to hope that this unnamed older boy might be as questionably straight as him, anyways? It doesn't really matter. All he knows is that he's not in the right frame of mind to be locked in a closet with a boy he jerks off to daily and he's not responsible for anything that happens tonight.

Mark leans back against the wall, awkward, not knowing exactly what to do with his hands. He keeps those blue eyes of his, magnified behind the thick frames of the glasses he'd been made fun of for since the second grade, trained on the other boy as he turns to look at him at last. A bitten lip, a pair of green eyes, a mop of curly-ish brown hair that needed a trim- honestly, Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about this boy that he was so attracted to. He obviously wasn't very popular himself, not sought after by the girls- in fact, he seemed to be as much of a cynical loner as Mark himself.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, sticker boy smiled at him slightly, looking unsure. He reached out tentatively to pat him on the shoulder, saying, "Hey, it's okay. It's just a stupid game."

All the younger boy can think about, though, is the guitar-calloused fingertips on his body. Even through his sweater he can feel the heat of the other's skin and God, he really is hard… The door slams shut beside them suddenly, shutting out the light and muffling the sounds beyond it, and he doesn't remember the apology he'd been composing in his head for what he is about to do. He just reacts.

The moment he can no longer see the expression on the other boy's face, Mark launches himself onto him, knocking him against the wall. A protest starts to fall fro those chapped lips until Mark's own mouth covers them, a loud whimper torn from his throat already as his clothed erection brushes against the other boy's thigh. He tries to focus on both tasks- rubbing against the other boy, riding his thigh, and devouring his mouth at the same time- while also reaching down to grope at the front of the other boy's pants. He has limited success.

He waits for another protest, or at least an attempt, but it doesn't come. Instead, a low, startled groan emanates between them as sticker boy opens his mouth and sucks Mark's bottom lip inside, nibbling on it, tongue tracing hot patterns. Mark's mind is reeling at this new development. His hands are everywhere, trying to touch as much of the green-eyed boy as possible, and his mouth is eventually torn from the others in favor of moving down to suck on the patch of skin just below his ear. Another low moan, and this time his cock throbs at it.

"What- what-?" Sticker boy is attempting to speak, but he keeps trailing off into those delectable whines that make Mark, if possible, even hornier. He's never had an outlet for all of his adolescent sexual energy before- writing bad porn can only tide him over so long- and now that he's found one, he's not stopping until he's spent.

Daringly, he fumbles with the other boy's zipper and yanks it down, not even bothering with the button. His hips are narrow enough for Mark to slide those dark jeans down without any trouble at all. Immediately he goes for the rapidly hardening appendage between his legs, fondling it in his hand the way he would his own, and it's becoming obvious that sticker boy has no objections when he spreads his legs further, leaning back against the wall panting heavily with his head tilted back. It takes Mark's breath away, watching this boy come undone in his very hand, and a dangerous thought worms into his head.

_I bet it'd feel even better if I used my mouth._

And with the alcohol clouding his judgments, Mark thinks this is just about the greatest idea that he's ever had. Still stroking firmly, his thumb rubbing over the slit at the tip and smearing the beads of precum there across the head, he kisses and sucks and licks his way down sticker-boy's neck until he's suddenly dropped to his knees in front of him, so suddenly that those green eyes barely have time to widen before he's tentatively poked his tongue out and licked at the smear of sticky white, tasting it with a thoughtful look on his faced, cross-eyed in his attempt to look at the erection nudging his lips.

Above him, the brunet is struggling not to viciously tug the smaller boy forward by the hair and make him take the rest of his cock in his mouth. He's never gotten a hummer from anyone, by or girl, and he doesn't really care what gender it comes from anyways. It's a mouth, any mouth will do, right? He's slightly nervous- the kid IS drunk, after all, and he looks way too innocent to have any experience and maybe, maybe, he thinks that he should tell him about the no-teeth rule. Roger values his dick too much to let it get bitten off by an intoxicated freshm-

The thought is cut off when mark gets the courage to suck the head of the cock before him into his mouth, sending pleasure spiraling so hard through Roger that he whimpers, hardly even able to care how desperate he sounds. The gingery boy has put a lot of thought into it, and he's managed to figure out all on his own that he should wrap his lips around his teeth very, very carefully. If it were him getting head right now in his classmate's closet he'd want to make sure they'd done the same, after all.

Concentrating as hard as he can, mind still buzzing with the drinks he's had, Mark's slowly leans forward and takes sticker-boy's cock in his mouth inch by inch, torturously slow. He wants to get this exactly right. If he did, maybe sticker boy would come sit with him when he ditched health so he didn't have to look like some depressed loser, alone in a corner. Feeling fingers hesitantly set on his head, curling in his short hair, he figured he must be doing something right and he keeps on leaning until his gag reflex kicks in and he coughs, backing away.

Mark has a brief battle of wills with the dick in his mouth, thinking to himself over and over that _he can do this_ and nothing's going to stop him, not this awkward pause or the muffled giggling on the other side of the door or his gag reflex, which is seriously detrimental to his master plan. How is he supposed to convince his green-eyed boy to like him if he can't even give a proper blowjob? Determinedly, the brown-haired boy's knuckles white as the fist in his hair, he tries again. His tongue strokes at the underside of the cock, following a raised vein that he swears he can feel a rapid pulse in, and this time he stops just as he reaches the danger zone.

Okay. So now… He's mapping it out in his mind, each of his next moves. It was like chess. You had to think three steps ahead. Above him, sticker boy groans in frustration as he sucks back to the tip, hollowing his cheeks around the length and closing his eyes in concentration. This isn't so bad… In fact, Mark thought he could probably get used to the heavy feeling of an erection on his tongue, rubbing against his lips and the roof of his mouth. The taste wasn't nearly as terrible as he'd imagined. Salty, almost- he pulled back to lap at the head again, just to be sure, and his heart fluttered as he received a low, pleased moan in response. Oh, yeah, he could definitely do this again.

Minutes passed in a slow, beautiful blur, eyes closed and heart in his throat, the boy whose name he didn't know gasping and groaning as his cock slid in and out of the moist cavern of Mark's mouth. The pace increased eventually as Mark felt his excitement and responded with his own, wondering through the haze of alcohol what would happen when he came. What was he going to do with it? Would he swallow? Spit? The latter sounded more appealing, honestly-

As he was thinking this, the other boy gave a choked moan and his fingers tightened in Mark's hair, his thigh muscles twitching and tightening spastically. Mark hardly had a handful of seconds to prepare himself before, with a shudder, sticker boy's cock pulsed in his mouth and a few hot, salty loads of cum shot down his throat.

He hadn't been prepared, that much was obvious. He coughed and backed away once more, stumbling backwards away from his darker-haired counterpart, and several things happened at once.

First, the other boy fumbled with his zipper, tucking himself back into his pants before yanking it back up and getting it caught halfway. Second, sticker boy- his stars glowing in the dim closet, as Mark had only just realized- looked down at him and just for a moment, green eyes met blue. And third-

The door burst open. Mark stared up from the floor, wincing into the sudden bright light at the wide eyed face of the same pretty sophomore girl who had started the game. She shrieked, and then the doorway was crowded with a sea of teenaged faces ranging from disgusted to openly laughing- among them were Cindy, who looked ready to pee herself, and Maureen who was shocked and starting to smile. He was yanked to his feet the moment Mo was close enough to touch him and had no other option but to stumble after her out of the closet, glancing back futilely and licking his swollen lips, hoping for just one last bit of eye contact.

And then he was gone.

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

Mark decidedly did not enjoy hangovers. This was the first one he'd ever had, and If he had his say it would be the last. He grimaced, leaning against the cool metal of the locker next to Maureen's, eyes shut as he talked. Or grumbled, more like it.

"Oh, suck it up Marky," she chuckled, reaching to ruffle his hair. He cracked one eye open to glare at her balefully. How the hell was she so perky this morning? Maureen's hair was pin-straight, her makeup perfectly applied, lips glossy and eyes bright and alert. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

"But it hurts right NOW," he whined, not even caring that he was pouting. Now was not the time to pretend he had any dignity left. He'd already given the last shreds of that up in someone else's coat closet last night, or so he'd been told about a million times by just about everyone he'd seen since he stepped through the doors of the school that morning.

"Oh? Does anything… ELSE hurt?" she asked suggestively, lowering her eyelids and fluttering her lashes with a grin. His frown deepened.

"You're not allowed to make anal sex jokes! And no!" he hissed under his breath, flushing deeply. The cat was out of the bag now- as much as he'd done, as great the lengths he'd gone to over the past couple of years to conceal his sexual confusion from his best friend, one beer and everyone in the high school universe knew he'd gotten on his knees for some boy who, now, probably thought he was some gay freshman slut. The very thought made him groan in some terrible mixture of shame, embarrassment and a bizarre sense of pride in himself.

God, shame and pride for the same act? He was still drunk, wasn't he?

"But Marky!" She didn't let up, shutting her locker and turning to him with open arms. "Hug?" she simpered, and with a heavy sigh he leaned in to hug her. She pinched his hip lightly, laughing as he squirmed.

"Bitch," he muttered, pulling away and wincing at the throbbing between his eyes. "Ugh. Do you have any aspirin on you? My head is killing me and I know you usually carry some when you're- er-"

"Menstruating? On the rag? Bleeding from my lady parts? She supplied, lips twitching as Mark winced. Right. Exactly the words every teenaged boy wanted to hear.

"I do." His eyes widened as he whipped around towards the growly voice. There stood sticker boy, fingers awkwardly flexing at his sides as he glanced up from the floor with green eyes guardedly friendly. Mark's heart stopped for a moment, his face flooding with color, and he stammered as the other boy slipped a hand into his pocket and fished out a couple of little red ibuprofen tablets, offering them in an open palm. The bespectacled boy bit his lip and meekly plucked them up and popped them into his mouth, dry swallowing. He tried to ignore the tingle in his fingertips as they brushed the other boy's skin.

Maureen chose that moment, wisely, to take her leave, giggling as she flounced away. "I'll just leave you lovebirds alone…" Mark watched her pleadingly, eyes begging her to come back and get her out of this surely stinted conversation, but her back only got smaller as she broke into a run, spotting a herd of other drama students. He turned back reluctantly, dreading the awkwardness that was sure to follow.

"So-"

"I'm really-"

Both of them shut their mouths, giving each other uncertain looks, and for a couple of seconds there was silence punctuated by the sounds of other teens laughing and chatting with each other on their way to class. After working his mouth for a moment, Mark managed to squeak, "I'm sorry!"

A pause, and then- "Oh, God," sticker-boy laughed, sounding startled and incredibly relieved. "You remember? I was wondering… I thought I was going to have to explain…"

Mark tried out his own smile, eyes flickering nervously up to the darker-haired boy's. "I don't really think that's something I'd easily forget," he said, voice cracking only slightly. He was proud of himself so far for not making this entire situation more humiliating than it had to be. He had an unfortunate knack for magnifying those sorts of things- but not today.

"No," the other boy agreed, lips quirking upwards in the same sort of smirk Maureen had been wearing a minute or two before. "Could we maybe-" He looked hesitant, but then without warning he lunged and grabbed Mark's hand, shaking it furiously. "Hello, my name is Roger Davis. Can I… like… buy you dinner, or something?"

Raising an eyebrow, Mark tried to force down the fluttery feeling in his chest and just rolled his eyes playfully. "Lunch, sure. I didn't bring money today… Was a little bit rushed. But you don't have to do that." After a pause, he blinked as he belatedly realized what Roger's intentions had been. "Oh. I'm, uh- hello, my name is Mark." He mocked, coughing and looking away trying to disguise his excited grin.

_He's giving me a second chance. A fresh start -_

"Mark…" Roger seemed to weigh the name in his mouth, staring off and then nodding decisively as if in approval. "Cool, man. But really. I should be the one apologizing-"

"Don't!" Mark hastily interrupted, face glowing like a neon sign with the heat of his blush. "Uh- I- yeah, don't… It was all me. I don't um, do that- usually…"

"You were drunk, though. I wasn't," Roger pointed out. He relaxed visibly, though, and slung a casual and entirely unexpected arm around the younger boy's shoulders as they started to walk. "But, uh, hey. If you won't let me make it up to you-"

"What am I, your date?" Mark couldn't stop himself for muttering. He wasn't all that opposed to the idea, actually, his father's gay-bashing aside, but Roger didn't seem to hear him.

"- how about you come chill with me after school? I wrote a new song, and I need someone's opinion on it…" Those green eyes blinked at him with a wary form of poorly-disguised hope, and Mark suddenly remembered his drunken observation from the night before.

Roger didn't have any more friends than he did. He was reaching out. To him. Mark. Who just last night did something incredibly stupid and molested him in a closet.

"Sounds good," he said with a smile. "You play guitar? Are you good?" Internally, he was pumping his fist and screaming his triumph. He had a second chance. And he wasn't going to fuck this one up!

"Yeah, I mean- amateur but I'm getting there." The other boy's ace broke into a wide grin, and despite their less than conventional first meeting, Mark knew as they meandered through the halls and fell into an easy pattern of conversation that they were going to get to be great friends.

… And maybe, eventually, something more.


End file.
